Stories from my friend Formica

So I haven’t been able to meet my friend Formica in months, and that’s probably why I haven’t written on my blog lately.  Also I’ve been finishing my novel, which will be out very soon via Amazon so yay!

Anyway, I finally got to hang out with Formica again and hear her stories of love and loss and the ridiculous situations she gets herself into.  I love her, but Lawsy, she can put herself into some pickles!

So I hear her latest story that involves a married man.  Need I go on?  You’ve figured out this cannot end well, right?  Of course it didn’t.  But she can tell a good story.  Always had.  I figured out years ago, not long after we met in graduate school, that she was a collector.  Collector of men, collector of experiences, collector of stories to share over tea at Starbucks.

She’s collected all types of men over the years.  The nerdy geek type, which included the student priest and college professor; the bad boy type, which included the biker and the heavy metal musician; and the army type, which included… well, the one soldier she went on maybe three dates with.

So now do we add the married type?  I hope not.  It was rough on her, alas.  I’m used to seeing Formica talking to the Chinese waiters in Mandarin, yelling at the Lebanese waiters when they sneer at our hummus, flirting with the flamboyant waiters just about everywhere.  Seeing her subdued and heartbroken saddens me.  Is that selfish?  Probably.

I am not going to repeat her story here.  It’s not for me to tell, and when I typed it out and reread it, the words seemed like gossip.  Let me sum up by saying that she thought she was in love.  It looked like love.  It sounded like love.  It even smelled like love when the fellow sent her flowers.  But when they were finally together, when they finally let their lips lock and their tongues tango, it didn’t feel like love.  It felt sordid.

I’ve thought a lot about Formica’s stories.  Next week we will have tea again, and I guarantee you she’ll have her sunny disposition back, and she’ll be flirting with the barista and laughing off this latest tale with all the insouciance I’ve come to love in her.  But what about the feeling of love?  Did she feel it?  Is her heart broken?  I don’t know.  I myself have felt that pain, and it’s pretty devastating.  There’s nothing romantic or funny about it.

I worry that Formica will take on the attitude that feeling deeply only leads to hurting deeply.  She’s good at maintaining shallow, casual relationships.  They make good stories, but not good relationships.  Selfishly, I want the stories for myself.  They liven up my days, and make me glad for the things and people in my comparatively boring life.  But I love my friend and I want her to be happy.

Ah well, to each his or her own, and all such platitudes.  I do think she’s had the right idea all along to collect experiences.  I know the ones I’ve collected over the years have made my writing what it is, and more.  Now if I can just get Formica to sit down and write that memoir!!!


One Response to “Stories from my friend Formica”

  1. Diana Beebe Says:

    I hope Formica gets back to her chipper self soon! If she isn’t writing, she should be. 🙂

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